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Boredom hath struck again. Thus, I unleash the horror of my amateur writing skills upon this board once again. 
Anyway, this is a revamped version of my old Waves of Chiron story. Hopefully it's somewhat better than when I began it. So, let me know if you think it's worth continuing.
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The ancient sailors befriended the skies, taking comfort in the crimson blessing of an evening sunset, and taking caution at a bloody dawn. The sailors searched the stars for guidance; humanity would look to them for salvation.
The skies of Chiron offered no such kinship to the sailor. The always angry sky betrayed little of the planet's intent, and the stars were yet unfamiliar to the fledgling human colonists.
Ulrik Svensgaard longed for the silent benediction that tonight's amber-violet sunset would have offered on Earth. He would not receive it. Battle had given way to retreat, which had given way to rout. His fleet was fragmented and vigorously pursued, his cities open to attack. He had considered calling council at the news, but quickly decided there was little to be done. Cities stood ready for evacuation, the garrisons for their last stands.
Svensgaard was not a sentimental man, but he paused now to gaze upon the commercial district of Safe Haven. With martial law in effect, few pedestrians walked the streets encased in the massive pressure dome. A few structures reached very nearly to the apex, their immaculate white sides catching the last rays offered by the Chironian sun, reflecting them onto the smaller structures below. The hum of the intra-base transport trains came to him, as they shuttled men and materiel to the various perimeters and facilities. The streets had been swept clean hours ago in order to facilitate evacuation. In the distance, he could just make out the waves, idly edging up against the base perimeter. This was how he wanted to remember Safe Haven: pristine.
His door chimed, breaking his rapture. Svensgaard collected himself and sat at his plain, lime-grey desk, and busied himself with some minutia on his terminal.
"Enter", he said.
The synthmetal-armored doors slid open to reveal the rather imposing 6' tall figure of Admiral Heinnover. He saluted, and Svensgaard motioned for him to sit.
"Any news?" Svensgaard asked.
"None sir. Our ships are destroyed, damaged, or maintaining blackout."
Svensgaard sighed. "What now, John?"
"You know as well as I do sir. Everything that can be done has been."
"How long?"
"Well, at last word, Odyssey and Nautilus were attempting to lead the Usurper fleet as far south as possible. Initial indications are that they have been successful. If that is the case, we can expect them to be followed for perhaps a week, then they'll come for us. Alexander and Endeavor should return in approximately two days time. They can be repaired quickly, but their strategic value, I think, will be minimal. We can run indefinitely, but, short of a miracle, I don't see our bases lasting more than six months."
Svensgaard was not surprised. Nor did he need the review of the situation that Heinnover had provided. He had himself run the scenarios through his mind at least a half-dozen times in the past few hours, often coming out with far less time than six months. He had been hoping that Heinnover might have caught something that he had missed, a single advantage that might allow them to overcome the alien threat that lay at the foot of the budding Nautilus empire. No, Svensgaard was not surprised, just disappointed.
"Ulrik," Heinnover said, a smile playing across his face, "you look like a child who has just had his favorite toy taken from him."
Svensgaard allowed a wide grin to cross his face. He had not realized just how high his hopes had been when Heinnover walked into the room.
"Maybe," Heinnover said, pulling a small flask of scotch from his pocket, "Sister Godwinson is onto something." He took a swig, then handed it across the desk to Svensgaard, who was thoroughly puzzled.
"Perhaps," he clarified, "we should pray."
Anyway, this is a revamped version of my old Waves of Chiron story. Hopefully it's somewhat better than when I began it. So, let me know if you think it's worth continuing.
-------------
The ancient sailors befriended the skies, taking comfort in the crimson blessing of an evening sunset, and taking caution at a bloody dawn. The sailors searched the stars for guidance; humanity would look to them for salvation.
The skies of Chiron offered no such kinship to the sailor. The always angry sky betrayed little of the planet's intent, and the stars were yet unfamiliar to the fledgling human colonists.
Ulrik Svensgaard longed for the silent benediction that tonight's amber-violet sunset would have offered on Earth. He would not receive it. Battle had given way to retreat, which had given way to rout. His fleet was fragmented and vigorously pursued, his cities open to attack. He had considered calling council at the news, but quickly decided there was little to be done. Cities stood ready for evacuation, the garrisons for their last stands.
Svensgaard was not a sentimental man, but he paused now to gaze upon the commercial district of Safe Haven. With martial law in effect, few pedestrians walked the streets encased in the massive pressure dome. A few structures reached very nearly to the apex, their immaculate white sides catching the last rays offered by the Chironian sun, reflecting them onto the smaller structures below. The hum of the intra-base transport trains came to him, as they shuttled men and materiel to the various perimeters and facilities. The streets had been swept clean hours ago in order to facilitate evacuation. In the distance, he could just make out the waves, idly edging up against the base perimeter. This was how he wanted to remember Safe Haven: pristine.
His door chimed, breaking his rapture. Svensgaard collected himself and sat at his plain, lime-grey desk, and busied himself with some minutia on his terminal.
"Enter", he said.
The synthmetal-armored doors slid open to reveal the rather imposing 6' tall figure of Admiral Heinnover. He saluted, and Svensgaard motioned for him to sit.
"Any news?" Svensgaard asked.
"None sir. Our ships are destroyed, damaged, or maintaining blackout."
Svensgaard sighed. "What now, John?"
"You know as well as I do sir. Everything that can be done has been."
"How long?"
"Well, at last word, Odyssey and Nautilus were attempting to lead the Usurper fleet as far south as possible. Initial indications are that they have been successful. If that is the case, we can expect them to be followed for perhaps a week, then they'll come for us. Alexander and Endeavor should return in approximately two days time. They can be repaired quickly, but their strategic value, I think, will be minimal. We can run indefinitely, but, short of a miracle, I don't see our bases lasting more than six months."
Svensgaard was not surprised. Nor did he need the review of the situation that Heinnover had provided. He had himself run the scenarios through his mind at least a half-dozen times in the past few hours, often coming out with far less time than six months. He had been hoping that Heinnover might have caught something that he had missed, a single advantage that might allow them to overcome the alien threat that lay at the foot of the budding Nautilus empire. No, Svensgaard was not surprised, just disappointed.
"Ulrik," Heinnover said, a smile playing across his face, "you look like a child who has just had his favorite toy taken from him."
Svensgaard allowed a wide grin to cross his face. He had not realized just how high his hopes had been when Heinnover walked into the room.
"Maybe," Heinnover said, pulling a small flask of scotch from his pocket, "Sister Godwinson is onto something." He took a swig, then handed it across the desk to Svensgaard, who was thoroughly puzzled.
"Perhaps," he clarified, "we should pray."